


The King's Jewel

by certain_as_the_sun



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arkenstone is a Silmaril, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Sentient Arkenstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certain_as_the_sun/pseuds/certain_as_the_sun
Summary: In which the dragon isn't the only danger in Erebor.





	The King's Jewel

**Author's Note:**

> Personally I don't think the Arkenstone is a Silmaril for many reasons, including "wouldn't Gandalf have noticed?" and "wouldn't Maglor have come for it?", but I wondered "what if?". This is the result of that "what if?". As a side note, no one will ever convince me Fëanor didn't put his soul in the Silmarils. Ever.
> 
> The working title for this was "Don't Touch The Shiny Rock, You Fools!". That sums it up pretty well.

"I found it in the main mine-shaft," the miner said. "It was strange - I felt as if something was dragging me to it, and I heard someone call my name, but none of the others heard or said anything."

Thrór wasn't listening. He was staring at the jewel in the miner's hands as if it was crafted by Mahal himself. Thorin almost shivered at the look on his grandfather's face.

"Something's wrong here," his mother muttered, eyeing the jewel as if it was an Orc about to jump up and murder them.

Thrór lunged forward and almost snatched it from the miner.

"Mahal has sent us a gift!" he cried, grinning. There was something _wrong_ with his grin, something mad and fey. In that moment it looked like someone else was wearing Thrór's face, and Thorin was afraid.

 

* * *

 

Time passed, and Thorin forgot his fear. The Arkenstone was good. The Arkenstone was a gift of the Valar. Since it was found the Dwarves of Erebor had learned many new ways to mine and work the most stubborn of metals. Since it was found the scribes and scholars had made fascinating new discoveries.

Since it was found Thrór had become cruel, arrogant and unreasonable, but Thorin never realised this.

The Arkenstone was _good_ , and Thorin was not afraid.

 

* * *

 

"Get rid of it." Thranduil's voice was calm and steady, but it contained an undercurrent of something akin to terror.

"Are you mad?" Thrór demanded, hand flying to his sword.

"You have no idea what that is, what it will bring!" The Elvenking's emotionless facade almost cracked. "It will bring death and destruction upon you. All manner of foul beasts - Man, Orc, and worse - will desire it for themselves. It will be the ruin of Erebor if you do not destroy it."

" _You_ want it," Thrór growled. "You Elves cannot bear for us to have the blessings you were denied."

Thranduil bared his teeth in what was more a snarl than a smile. "Oh yes, what a great blessing you have! The work of a madman, that has caused the deaths of thousands of my people! I have never wanted anything more!"

That was the last time Thranduil visited Erebor. The Arkenstone, set above the throne as if it was truly the king, flickered. It looked like it was laughing.

 

* * *

 

 

The Dwarves were dead or gone, and the mountain was Smaug's. He gathered all the treasure he could reach and counted it over and over again. When he came across the jewel that glowed, he tried to pick it up and examine it more closely.

It _burned_. It burned his scales and glowed so brightly it almost blinded him. He roared in pain and rage, and felt an answering rage radiate from the jewel.

 _How dare you touch me, spawn of Morgoth!_ it hissed. _Come closer, and I will melt your scales and turn your body to ash!_

Smaug recoiled. There was a strange power about it that was unconnected to a Valië's hallowing it, and he feared it.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo knew the Arkenstone from the moment he saw it. It was hard to miss when it glowed like the light of the sun and moon were combined in it.

"I might let you take it," Smaug growled, glaring from Hobbit to Arkenstone. "Then, when your precious Oakenshield falls to madness, when he turns against you and destroys all he loves, you will know it is your fault for bringing it to him."

Bilbo looked down at the jewel. It was just a jewel, a shiny rock. It couldn't make anyone mad.

 

* * *

 

"It couldn't make anyone mad, I said," Bilbo grumbled under his breath. "The dragon was lying, I said. Well, what is threatening to throw someone off a wall, if not madness?"

"Did you say something, Bilbo?" Gandalf looked down at him curiously.

"No, nothing," Bilbo said. "Just... complaining. Gandalf, what do you think the Arkenstone is?"

The Arkenstone was with Bard now, but he could still feel its warmth pressed against his chest. At times when he carried it he could have sworn it was whispering something. He could still hear it. That was the problem. Jewels, no matter how shiny, could not speak.

Gandalf was silent for a long time.

"I think," he said at last, "that it should have remained buried until the world is remade."

 

* * *

 

They buried the Arkenstone in Thorin's tomb. Dwalin was frankly glad to see it go. The search for that jewel had coincided with Thorin's descent into gold sickness, and according to Balin its discovery had coincided with Thrór's gold sickness. If his years as a guardsman had taught him one thing, it was to be suspicious of coincidences.

He patrolled the inhabited parts of the mountain every night, and his route took him past the tombs. Before he reached them he heard it: a scraping, grinding sound, like rocks shifting against each other.

Dwalin approached carefully, axes in hand. The possibility Smaug was not the only foul creature to take up residence in the Lonely Mountain had been raised more than once. It was best to stay on guard when dealing with anything unusual.

The first thing he noticed was the strange light emanating from Thorin's tomb. The second was the figure crouched at the tomb.

It was far bigger than a Dwarf, bigger than most Men, and as thin as the scarecrows Men put in their fields. Its clothes were dirty and ragged, and its hair trailed on the ground. Most startling of all was the pointed ear visible through its hair.

It was an Elf. And it was taking apart Thorin's tomb with its bare hands, stone by stone.

"What are you doing?" Dwalin roared. "Get out of here, go back to your bloody forest, and _leave that_ -"

The Elf raised its head. Its eyes glowed with the same light as the Arkenstone. It raised its hand - its scarred, burnt hand, he noticed now - and pointed at the jewel just visible through the gap it had made in the stones.

"Atar's," it whispered. Its voice was hoarse and raw, as if it had been screaming.

Despite the Dwarves' disdain for all things Elvish, every Dwarf knew the story of the Silmarils. It was a warning to them: "See what those dratted Elves will do. Then _don't do that_." And Dwalin knew what they should have realised long ago.

He stared at the partially dismantled tomb.

"This will be a nightmare to explain, you know," he told his dead King conversationally. "And I'm going to have a few words with Dáin about never, ever trusting glowing rocks, no matter what they are. I don't care if Mahal himself personally delivers one. There will never be another one in Erebor for as long as I live."

"A wise idea," the Elf said, with a bitter, broken smile.

The Elf - the Fëanorian - pulled the stone from the tomb with his burnt hand. Dwalin shuddered as the stench of burning flesh filled the air. The Elf wrapped it in his cloak, got up, and slipped out the door. Dwalin could have stopped him. He was armed, the Elf wasn't. But that damned rock had caused enough trouble. Erebor was better off without it.


End file.
